a word or two to say. The position taken up by the advocates is, that the innovation sought for is peremptorily required in the present circumstances of our society. Being, however, a matter not for individual conscience, but a central part of all our social arrangements, a strong base of legitimacy must be established before the mass of Hindu society can be asked to help their unfortunate daughters and sisters out of their unmerited and irremediable misery. To ask them to change national institutions upon grounds of expediency is a thing they cannot understand, and will not tolerate. When this legitimate basis is once established beyond all danger of being shaken, to crave for more examples of the practice is very unreasonable, in respect of an institution which is professedly an innovation in every practical sense of that word, though it may be true, for the matter of that, that it is a renovation or a return to the manners of old and purer times.

Popular conscience have never been dead to the claims of this subject on its attention. In two recorded instances, the claims of the womankind for kinder consideration under this misfortune moved the souls of the great Jayasing, the Rajah of Jeypoor, and of the famous Pandit Appayá Dixit to rebel against custom. On both these occasions, however, the dead inertia of ages at last prevailed against the promptings of nature. In more modern times, the question was raised in our own part of the country, by the famous Parshuráma Pant Bháu Patvardhan, the co-adjutor of Lord Cornwallis in the wars of Tippoo Sultán, and the last of the terrible leaders of the Maratha conquering hosts. He had a young daughter, and Durgábái, we believe, was her name. She was given in marriage at a very tender age, varying in different accounts from five to nine years old, to a scion of the Joshî family. The young bridegoom died of small-pox fever, while yet the marriage festivities were not over. The brave old father was so moved by this calamitous termination of his fond hopes to see his daughter blessed, that he wrote to the Peishwa at Poona, tendering his resignation of his command of the army, and expressing a determination to retire from the world. The Peishwa's durbar, who knew the value of the man, and felt with him in his sufferings, assured him that he need not despair, for they would try to find a remedy for his irremediable sorrow. The Shankaráchárya of the time was then referred to, and his kind offices were prayed for by the men in power. The old man had some grudge against the Bhàu, and he answered that

he would have nothing to advise in the way of giving comfort to a man who was worse than a yavan. The Peishwa's durbar, therefore, wrote to the Benares Pandits, the Pandits of the Poona court having shown a perverse disposition. These Benares Pandits sent a letter of assent signed by many hundred persons, in which, moved by the extreme infancy of the bride, and also by the consideration that the cause of Brahmin supremacy would be greatly checked by the withdrawal of Bháu from public affairs, they found out that the Shastras favour the remarriage of girls like Durgábái, widowed in infancy. On receipt of this letter of the Benares Pandits, the Shankaráchárya of the day thought it wise to yield, and the Poona Pandits were about to follow suit, for none dared to hint a threat against the lion of the Deccan, as he was called. The astute Pandits, however, waited on Parshuráma Pant Bháu's wife, and through her they gained their object. The mother expressed her readiness to bear with her daughter's bereavement, rather than see a new innovation introduced. Parshuráma Pant Bháu was much surprised at this resolution and yielded the point to the Pandits, declaring that he insisted upon it solely with a view to console his wife, and if she wished for no consolation, he had nothing more to say. Thus the matter ended. The above account of the affair represents accurately what happened on the occasion. It is taken verbatim from one who has himself seen the original papers in the possession of the family, in his capacity as one of its old servants in charge of the records. The account is, moreover, corroborated by the received understanding of all the old people in the Patvardhan service, who have often said to us that they felt much surprised to find that the opponents of remarriage still had anything left to say after the solemn settlement of the question in Parshuráma Pant Bháu's time.

We have said all that is necessary to be said in illustration of the main theme of these observations. The agitation of the last three or four years has placed the legitimacy of the movement beyond all danger, and the Poona discussions brought this fact out in a most prominent manner. No question was raised there as to the Vedic texts, though special attention was drawn to the point; the argument of Vyankat Shástrí was not even noticed. The Smriti texts were jumbled up together, the main text, common to Manu, Náràda, and Paráshara, was twisted and tortured in all manner of ways, some of them most ridiculously absurd, and absolutely no attempt was made to

show that the only true and natural meaning of the text was not the one contended for by the advocates. In fact this point was allowed, but it was urged that if the text were so understood, it would come in conflict with others, as if this was not the most common thing in the world with these Smriti writers. The orthodox disputants made a mess of their case, and though their Panch gave utterance to a foregone conclusion, the truth cannot be so hidden in these days. If these observations help the student to form his independent judgment upon the merits of this great argument, the writer will deem himself amply compensated for his pains.